Bard the Dragonslayer
by alikuu
Summary: Thranduil agrees to help the ppl of Laketown make it through the rough winter after BOFTA but only if he gets to take the Dragonslayer home…


Bard could not lie that he had never entertained fantasies about being in bed with the magnificent and beautiful King of the Woodland Elves.

The tall, blonde, fearsome elf had captivated Bard from the moment they had met and had only succeeded in intriguing the former bargeman further while they were forced to cooperate and act as equals during the Battle of the Five Armies.

However never, not in a million years, had Bard imagined that one day he might actually end up in Thranduil's bed. Least of all like this-

Inside the innermost chambers of the elven kingdom, buried beneath mounds of velvet, down and silk, Bard felt trapped under the heavy bedding of Thranduil's sumptuous bed. Sheets tangled around his legs, pillows piled up like the walls of a fortress around him, and in the midst of it all was Thranduil himself, long blond hair like spun silver falling freely over Bard's bare skin, face brazenly nuzzled under the former bargeman's scrubby chin, and breath fanning over the light sheen of sweat that had formed over Bard's overheated body.

The King of the Elves was fast asleep, clothed from head to toe in a loose elven nightgown. The leg that he had slung over Bard's own was also covered by some kind of three-quarter trousers, which the man could feel rubbing against his own night pants.

Bard lied topless, unable to put up with too much clothing in the warmth of the Elven King's halls. Unlike his old home on the Lake, elven chambers were perpetually warm. Despite the bitter winter ranging outside with fires lit in every fireplace Thranduil's quarters were as hot as the mids of summer. In fact, Bard was so unused to such heat and such fine bedding that he found himself unable to sleep, even after he had been ordered to rest. Especially since he had been ordered into it.

Which brings us back to the current predicament - he was in Thranduil's bed, and he was clothed, ordered by his new sovereign to sleep, while said sovereign was pressed against him seemingly without a care in the world. And Bard could hardly do anything but endure it, because he was as good as Thranduil's property at that point and as difficult to comprehend as it was, it was the absolute truth.

You are probably wondering how he got there in the first place. Well, this is how:

It all started when he slew a dragon. Yes, it started there, and it only got stranger after.

So, how Bard slew Smaug is another story, but it's important to mention that the former bargeman did not consider that deed a simple, everyday thing. Slaying dragons wasn't supposed to become routine for him. He considered himself rather lucky for having survived that first time and if asked, he would have said that he'd prefer never to have to repeat such a feat, for he wasn't certain that he could. Others might have disagreed, but we'll get to that.

So once Smaug was dead, a war was waged over who got to keep the gold in Erebor. Armies of elves, dwarfs, orcs, eagles, oh yeah, and men (since what was left of the people of Laketown had also been forced into the conflict) had fought until good prevailed over evil and finally a settlement was reached.

But once the war was over, the blatant truth that humans cannot eat gold had forced Bard, the newly appointed King of Dale, to go around begging his allies to sell him supplies in order for his people to survive the winter.

"We barely have enough to last us the winter." Dain had said. "Try Thranduil - the woodland elves horde grain, wine and everything you need. Maybe he'll agree to trade with you, but don't hope for a reasonable price. He knows you're desperate. He'll milk ye dry."

It was understandable that the dwarves, who had suffered the most from the war would not sell their resources to the men, but without food and without shelter, Bard had no idea how his people were supposed to live.

Somehow he had counted on the idea that the Elves would be the ones to help. And the last thing he had expected was to be dealt another low blow by life, one that he really didn't think his people deserved:

"My Kingdom has suffered great losses and is threatened from many sides." Thranduil had said when Bard had went to his war tent for help. "I don't have excessive stock to sell as I need to keep my reserves full for the coming perils."

"But my Lord," Bard had uttered breathlessly, rendered nearly speechless with surprise at the callus nature of the Elven King. "You would keep your reserves full in case of danger when my people's starvation and death is certain without your help?! We've lost everything. We have nothing - we will die this winter if you will not help us…"

"Who said anything about letting your people die?" Thranduil raised an eyebrow. "I only said that I would not sell the people of Dale resources for gold. That does not mean that I'm unwilling to make a deal of another kind."

"What deal?" Bard's eyes were wide and he knew he sounded desperate, but he was. The future of his children and all the people of Laketown was in this elf's hands and it would have been a lie if Bard said that he wasn't prepared to do anything to get the Elven King's favour. "State your terms and if we could meet them, you will have your deal."

Thranduil seemed pleased by that answer. There was a cool, calculating light in his eyes as he appraised the King of Dale with a quick glance, scanning the former bargeman from head to toe, which made Bard feel as if he had been weight, measured and judged… as what? Bard couldn't tell for certain. But he did get the keen sense that whatever Thranduil had been hoping to achieve, he had got it, because he had the self-satisfied aura of a cat that had just swallowed a mouse.

"If Dale was a part of my Kingdom, it would be my responsibility to rebuild it and see that it's people are fed and kept warm through the winter and seasons to come." Thranduil began and Bard felt something cold twist in his stomach.

Was that how Dale's sovereignty ended? Trading their independence for food and blankets? But did they really have a choice?

"I'm listening." Bard said, his voice grating low like two stones grinding against each other. His fists were balled by his sides, trying to suppress the anger that was rising inside of him.

"Dale can become a semi-autonomous province of Greenwood, a trusted ally to our East, who would mediate my Kingdom's trade with the Dwarves of Erebor. In turn I will take care of your people and I will let them choose their leader and govern their town as they please."

"That's…" Bard opened his mouth and closed it. Those terms were much better than he had expected. Perhaps the Elven King was not as callous as pretended to be. Maybe Thranduil just didn't want to ruin his cold-hearted reputation by helping the humans without some pretence. It didn't matter either way, because the deal was great and Bard wanted to thank him profusely, but what he said was: "That's acceptable."

"There is, however," Thranduil's eyes returned to him, pinning him in place with their icy intensity, "one more thing."

Bard's heart nearly stopped as he sensed that this was the dealbreaker coming and that whatever Thranduil was going to say, he probably wasn't going to like it.

"I want you, Bard the Dragonslayer, to become my subject and swear your allegiance to me." The King of the Elves said.

Bard blinked a couple of times, replaying the sentence in his head. Had he heard right? Was that all that Thranduil wanted?

"Only I, my Lord?" Bard asked.

"I only require you."

Although the former bargeman was deeply confused by the strange request, it seemed like a small sacrifice to make in order to save his people, so he agreed without a second thought.

"Dale will be under your protection, but you will not be its King. You will be my subject and as such will live in the Woodland Realm and help defend it." Thranduil said once Bard had agreed to his terms.

"Defend it?" Bard felt like he couldn't comprehend half of the things the elf was saying. "Defend it against what?"

"Dragons of course." Thranduil answered as if it were the most natural thing. "Did you think that the death of Smaug would attract only orcs? The north is still teeming with drakes and it's a matter of time before they try their luck in taking over what was vacated by him."

"And how would I be of any use against that?" Bard shook his head wondering when exactly the Elven King's shift from intelligent and cunning to utterly unreasonable and paranoid had happened.

"By being a Dragonslayer."

It was in that moment that Bard had started questioning the Elven King's sanity. The first of many such moments to come in the next few weeks.

"You think, that there will be dragons…" Bard tried to choose his words carefully, speaking slowly, as if he was addressing one of his kids. "Coming to attack you?

"I like to be prepared." Thranduil tilted his head, looking down at Bard from his impressive height. "Now choose - would you take my offer or deny it?"

Bard took a deep breath. He had no real choice - he had to make the deal, even though the part with the dragons and the dragonslaying was really rubbing him the wrong way.

Thankfully, Bard reasoned, there was no such thing as dragons in the north. Everyone knew that Smaug was the last dragon on Middle Earth. Perhaps Thranduil was just doing all of it for some political reasons. After all, the former bargeman couldn't begin to fancy understanding such an ancient and calculative being. Surely, in reality, Thranduil realised there was no danger of dragons to him or anyone else.

Besides, Bard supposed that it wouldn't hurt to move to the Woodland Kingdom with his children and work as a "dragonslayer". It practically meant that he wasn't going to move a muscle for the rest of his life and that his kids would be well provided for. Thinking of it in that way, the offer was one that only a fool would have refused… Or so he had thought.

…

Bard swore his allegiance to Thranduil on the snow-covered town square of Dale. There were mixed emotions in the crowd of gathered people, as many grieved the fact that their would-be-King was taken away from them, while others rejoiced the security that bought them.

Yet the same could be said for the gathered elves. As Bard knelt before the Elven King and recited the vows which would make him a subject of the Woodland Realm, he felt some less than friendly stares boring into the back of his bowed head. When Thranduil accepted his vows and bid him to rise, Bard turned towards the crowd and amidst the odd cheering from his people, he noticed that most of the elves were sizing him up with sour or dubious expressions.

'Well, blame your King for that.' Bard thought to himself. It wasn't his fault that Thranduil had set such unusual terms.

But things only got stranger and more uncomfortable from there.

"You are whom!?" Bard couldn't hide the anger in his tone as he addressed the hapless elleth who stood between him and his three children.

"Eagwen, Lord Dragonslayer." The slight, auburn-haired, wood elf said, not moving an inch to back down from the indignant parent before her. "Our King commanded…"

"Your King cannot command me to be separated from my children!" Bard roared.

"He is your King as well, my Lord." She reminded him pointedly.

"Well, I'm going to have words with him!" Bard growled, but before he could go, she reached up and grabbed his sleeve.

"Please, my Lord, listen to me! King Thranduil does not like disobedience and if you question his orders you are unlikely to get anything but a punishment. He has absolute power in our society. I know it does not work the same way in your previous community, but here we do not disobey our King."

"But this is wrong!" Bard insisted. "I am their Father! I need to be the one taking care of them!"

"You will be." She reassured him. "King Thranduil only wanted me to take care of them during the day while you are otherwise occupied with your new duties as the Dragonslayer. I believe he is only doing this to facilitate you."

"Well, he should have asked me first before he hired my children a nanny." Bard crossed his arms in front of his chest.

Eagwen let out a short giggle before she covered her mouth with her hands.

"Did I say something funny?" Bard frowned at the flustered elleth.

"My Lord." She hesitated. "Forgive me for saying this, but… It's just that you said that our King should have asked for you first. It's a bizarre thing to say. I'd suggest that you refrain from such words in front of others. While I may find it amusing, others might take great offense of it."

"Others, like Thranduil?" Bard raised an eyebrow.

"I cannot speak of our King Thranduil. But some of his other subjects for certain."

And so Bard had begun to live a life that, in his humbled opinion, was equivalent of that of a servant. He was not truly allowed to make any choices of his own, instead, everything, from where he'd live, what he'd eat, when he'd work and whom would take care of his children while he was gone, were decided for him.

What was even more disturbing was that the elves clearly had lived in that way for thousands of years and were perfectly happy with the established order, so no one sympathised with his trouble in understanding or agreeing with their King's absolute power. Some were even grievously offended by it.

One bold statement even got him as far as being summoned in front of the King, whom he had not seen since the day that the army had began its march from Dale to Mirkwood where Bard and his children currently lived.

"I believe you know why you've been summoned here." Thranduil sat on his throne, elevated way above the platform from which Bard stared up at him.

The Elven King looked magnificent, dressed in robes of white and silver, crowned with naked black branches from the winter woods outside, the very essence of their cold, ethereal beauty.

"Forgive me, my King." Bard nodded his head respectfully, trying to hide the rebelliousness in his tone. "I am not entirely certain what I have done to deserve this formal reprimand."

"You've been heard speaking in offense to my orders." Thranduil drawled somewhat boredly. "My officer reported that you were not convinced by the need to occupy your post on the new battalion, which has been constructed on top of the hill over my castle, for the sole purpose of you guarding this Kingdom from dragons."

"My Lord Thranduil," Bard looked up, feeling his patience running thin. "May I have permission to speak freely?"

"Go ahead." Bard could almost hear the smirk in the King's voice, although he wasn't certain whether he had seen or imagined it. It had been a quick, self-satisfied thing, that had flashed so briefly over Thranduil's face that with the distance that separated them, Bard couldn't be certain.

"It's bloody cold outside and even more so up there in the midst of winter," Bard burst out. "I'm sure that if a dragon was approaching, we'd know about it well in advance. They are pretty much impossible to miss. So if we do get attacked, I would have enough time to go up there and shoot it, since that's what you want of me. But until then, couldn't I spend my time in the nice warm quarters that you have given me, being with my kids instead of leaving them with the nanny you so graciously appointed?!"

Something about the way Thranduil's eyebrows rose up almost to his hairline made Bard realise that the intonation he had used did not suggest that he meant words like "gracious" when he spoke of the Elven King.

"Thank you for the insight." Thranduil said, his calm tone surprising Bard and making him gape incredulously. "As King I cannot always see to all things personally, therefore there was no way for me to know that the cold up there is too much for your human body to bear. The last thing my Kingdom needs is our Dragonslayer to fall sick or dead due to the harsh elements before the dragons even arrive."

Bard could hardly believe his ears.

"From now on you are in charge of your own activities. You may go and do as you please within my realm, as long as you do your role to protect it." The Elven King decreed.

"My Lord," Bard began incredulously. "With the risk of sounding ungrateful, may I ask what caused you to change your mind so drastically?"

"I trust your expertise with Dragons." Thranduil had simply said and there, right there was the problem.

Because for all of Bard's misgivings with the Woodland realm and its King, by far, the biggest absurdity of all was that the longer he stayed, the more he believed that Thranduil was actually dead serious about the dragon-thing. And that was more than a little unsettling.

…

And so the days rolled into weeks. Thanks to Bard's outburst in the Throne room, his limitations indeed lifted, but his newfound freedom seemed to completely befuddle the elves. The former bargeman found himself tracked by persistent and curious gazes wherever he went, be it the market, the gardens or the bathing chambers.

Once he confronted Eagwen about it, since she was the closest elf he had to a friend. The elleth was still the appointed nanny for his children, but lately her role had turned more into a tour-guide/interpreter, as she took less time caring for Bard's children, a task which the father kept mostly to himself, and more time teaching Bard and his kids how to live in the Woodland realm.

"I really don't understand." Bard had said. "Have I grown two heads? Everywhere I go elves are staring at me…"

Eagwen had been silent, trying hard to do the evasive-elf-thing, of which Bard was getting very tired of, but after some more needling she had given him a wary answer.

"It's not just about your obvious species difference." She had sighed. "Even though some of the younger elves here have never seen such rounded ears or such fur on the face and on other body parts..."

Bard rolled his eyes. At least that explained all the stolen glimpses in the communal bathing chambers.

"It's also…" Eagwen's eyes darted from side to side and her ears twitched, as if she was weary of someone overhearing her words. "It's also the fact that our King treats you with such unusual favour..." She whispered.

"Aye," Bard nodded, starting to understand. He didn't doubt that by that point, everyone knew of his freedom to choose his own activities. Elves did have a strong inclination towards gossip.

"And many just don't understand." She continued. "I know you, and I know that you are not a simple, brutish creature…"

"What did you say?!"

"Well, you must agree that humans are not the brightest or most refined of beings." The elleth tried to explain.

"That's just…" Bard rubbed the bridge of his nose with a deep sigh of resignation. "Ok, so some of you think that I'm an ugly human idiot and wonder why your King has taken a liking towards me…"

"Not precisely ugly." She said and her eyes subtly darted down before returning to his face. "I've heard from others that many find your particular aspects exotic."

"But is that reason enough for all the staring!?" Bard let out a frustrated breath. "Surely it's about time elves came to terms with my presence here."

"There is also the fact that you have been appointed to be our Kingdom's Dragonslayer." She added. "Many are wondering if you are deserving of such a high rank."

"Does anyone else, besides your King, worry about dragons?" Bard asked carefully.

"Of course. We are all terrified that the dragons of the north might come pillaging our Kingdom any time. Right now most of us are content, and hope that they would come during your lifetime, so that you could slay them, but what I'm worried about is that human life is so short, in just over fifty years we might…"

Her words blurred into noise as she continued to speak, unaware of the horror slowly blossoming over Bard's features.

It wasn't just their King. All of the Elves were crazy!

...

And then one day it had happened. The unthinkable. The one thing that Bard had never expected to live through again.

"Dragon!" Someone shouted. "A fire drake from the north is pillaging the Greenwood!"

It had started with the sound of elven horns echoing through the caves. Bard and his children had been shopping for small household items and toys in the market. Tilda had just been examining a beautiful wooden bird of dwarven make when the entire place had erupted into chaos.

"This cannot be." Bard mumbled to himself.

"Quick! My Lord, you must go!" Eagwen shook him from his stupor. "I'll take your children to safety, as was planned, and you must go to the battalion on top of the hill and shoot down the beast!"

There was no denying it - that was what Bard's job description had said, after all. Slay the Dragon.

"Oh boy…" He huffed as he ran up the stone-carved steps, which winded many stories up towards the top of the mountain. "If my heart doesn't burst by the time I get up there, I might have to actually face another dragon."

Luckily (or unluckily, depending on how you view it,) Bard did survive the endless flights of stairs and burst through the door, which lead him to a sky-high balcony, constructed on the tallest peak over the forest. From there he could see the dragon, which was flying low over Mirkwood, breathing fire, undoubtedly chasing the poor elves that happened to be out on that unfortunate day.

Strangely, faced with his worst nightmare, Bard did not feel fear. He did not feel anything at all but resolve. A part of him knew that he should be petrified, that coming out to face another dragon was likely going to end his career as a dragonslayer, and that chances were, he was never going to see his family again. However, he couldn't bring himself to wish that he had never made that deal. From what he could see from that high vantage point, the air over Dale was clear from smoke. Perhaps if he killed the dragon, or kept it occupied for long enough, his people had a chance of saving themselves.

Either way, it had become his duty to protect Thranduil and the elves, so Bard did the only thing he could think of:

"Hey!" He shouted. "Hey, dragon!"

It's said that dragon's ears are keener even than those of the elves, and it turned out to be true, since the large blue flying-thing heard him and landed, turning its long, serpentine neck towards him, snake-like eyes and terrible attention all on Bard.

"Who are you?" The dragon hissed.

It was a much smaller one than Smaug, but massive and horrendous nonetheless. Bard's heart felt like it would burst.

"I'm Bard the Dragonslayer. I shot down Smaug, a much larger dragon than you. So if you want to live, leave this land and go back to the North… Or from wherever it is you came!"

"I've heard of you, Bard the Dragonslayer." The dragon hissed. "But your fame will not save you. I am Lamiah. I will eat you alive and burn this forest, feast on elven flesh tonight!"

Lamiah took flight, heading straight towards the battalion and opening its big mouth to breathe fire.

"Shit!" Bard hissed, ducking in the hiding spots under the heavy stone battalions, which had been specifically made for that purpose. When the dragon flew past, he managed to take a look at its underbelly, noting that the hide was much softer than Smaug's and could be pierced by the heavy elven steel arrows, which Thranduil's smiths had created for him.

However, Bard couldn't get a chance to fire with Lamiah circling the battalion and raining fire all over it.

"You try to burn me, but what about eating me?" Bard challenged. "Didn't you say you'd swallow me alive? You can't keep your word, dragon!"

"I will!" Lamiah growled deeply and flew towards the battalion with its massive hind claws extending forward to catch purchase on the rock foundation. Bard used his opportunity to fire an arrow, which pierced one of the dragon's feet, sending it flying away with shrieks of pain and fire raining from its sharp-toothed mouth.

The distraction was all he needed to send another arrow through the air, this time directly into the dragon's long neck, piercing it just below the jaw.

With a roar Lamiah fell from the sky, crumbling over the forest in front of the Palace's entrance, its heavy tail nearly destroying the bridge before the magically sealed gates.

…

As Bard ran down the hundreds of stairs to the main level, he could not hear a sound within the walls of the elven palace. All was eerily quiet and still. However, the sight that greeted him once he made it out of the passage was exactly as he had expected. Two elven soldiers were waiting for him and demanding:

"The King summons you to the gate!"

He followed them, having to half-jog to keep up with their pace until they reached the main hall where seemingly Thranduil's entire army stood in neat rolls guarding the main gates of the Kingdom. The Elven King was there, at the front of his army. He was clad in his elven armour, looking gorgeous… Wait, was gorgeous the right word for that bastard, Bard wondered?

The elves moved out of his way as he quickly approached their King, who regardless of what Bard had assumed, did not seem smug for having been right about the attack that happened. If anything, he seemed frightfully grim, his face strained into a joyless expression.

"It's not dead yet." Were Thranduil's first words, spoken harshly as the Elven King gripped him by the shoulder and hauled him to the living stone of the gate. He showed Bard to a transparent stone, which the human could have sworn had not been there before. Through it, they could see the happenings on the other side, over the bridge and into the forest. And Thranduil was right - Lamiah was still wriggling in agony, wounded but clearly not dead. Its large tail was swishing around, unrooting trees with its sheer size and force, digging rocks out of the earth.

"If it's not stopped, it will destroy the bridge, or worse - escape and come back later." Thranduil hissed, turning his blue eyes to Bard and breathing sharply through his nose, like an enraged animal.

"Alright, alright." Bard raised his hands, trying to take a step away from the Elven King, who clearly had forgotten all about personal space and was towering over him from so close that Bard could feel his breath on his face. "I understand. Open the gate and let's finish it."

"You finish it." Thranduil growled.

"But…" Bard blinked at the Elven King's deliberate obstructiveness. "I cannot get a shot of it from the hill and going out there alone…"

"I said, **you finish it**." Thranduil repeated and there was something absolutely feral about him. He was utterly pale, all colour drained from his face with the exception of his eyes, which seemed too dark in the diminished light.

But it wasn't just the light. Looking closer, Bard realised that it was the blacks of Thranduil's eyes that had expanded to the point that they almost swallowed the pale blue irises. And in that moment, the Elven King scared the former bargemen more than the dragon outside.

"Aye, I'll go." Bard said and Thranduil's presence pealing away from him felt like a massive weight being lifted.

The Elven King walked a few brisk steps away but his long legs carried him a much greater distance than what Bard could have assumed possible for anyone to traverse in a matter of seconds.

Thranduil shouted orders in his language, causing elves to run around and regroup. Several went to the gate and began unbolting it.

Strangely, through all the commotion, the thing that ended up nagging Bard the most was not the fact that he was about to walk out and face a still-living dragon alone. Instead, what worried him more was the keen sense that something, and Bard wasn't entirely certain what, was definitely wrong with the Elven King.

Bard had met Thranduil under what could be called extreme circumstances. And yet, even in the midst of war and in the face of dangers unknown, the Elven King had never once, even for a split second, seemed perturbed or uncertain. However, as the gates were about to open and Thranduil turned to survey the progress, Bard saw something that looked suspiciously like terror on the elf's face. His expression was as tight as string just before it ruptured, and his skin had lost all colour.

As Bard watched him, a ridiculous thought of going to the Elven King and saying something reassuring crossed his mind. As quickly as the idea came, Bard scrapped it. Thranduil didn't care about Bard's reassurance. The Elven King just wanted the pesky dragon dealt with - he had hired a god-damned dragonslayer, assumed responsibility over an entire city of humans, keeping them fed and taken care of, just for that very moment. No wonder he wanted to see Bard getting the job done.

Sighing deeply and preparing himself for the inevitable, Bard turned his back on Thranduil and the elves, and looked through the gate, which was cracked open just enough for him to pass.

'There goes nothing…' He thought to himself as he walked out.

As soon as he stepped through the gate, it slid shut behind him.

'So much for help…' Bard shook his head and headed over the half-destroyed bridge towards the dragon.

…

Meanwhile on the other side, the Elven King pressed himself to the door, watching through the viewing stone as the Dragonslayer advanced towards the place where Lamiah still wriggled in near-death agony.

His shaky exhale sounded too loudly in the deadly quiet halls, as the breath he had been holding for too long finally burst out of his chest, before he sucked in another one to hold for a while longer.

The elves were still, waiting and watching their King for his commands. They could all see the minute tremors of his body and few, if any, begrudged him for it. Many of them had been with him on the terrible march against Scatha, the dragon, which had burned half of their King's flesh straight down to the bone and left him hanging at death's door for months.

The years of recovery that had followed and the face, which their King had worn during those were also hard to forget. For even elven flesh had trouble healing burns of the magnitude that Thranduil had suffered, and many had not believed that he'd ever truly regain his beauty.

It had taken nearly a century for his skin to return to normal, but some wounds, were deeper than those left on the flesh. Some wounds, those of the soul, those left by the pain, which the body remembers, were even harder to heal. And even after millennia, with a dragonslayer in their midst, it did not surprise them to see their King shaken to the core upon facing his greatest fear.

Thranduil sucked in another breath and tensed. The elves at the front row exchanged wary glances and braced for his commands.

"Open the gates!" The King cried and if there was a tremor in his frame, it did not show, nor did it sound in his powerful voice.

The doors were opened and Thranduil lead his warriors over the bridge, running lightly towards the still twitching dragon.

The Elven King stopped mere meters from the dying monster, watching it carefully and accessing the situation as the last fires in its eyes were slowly burning out.

"Sire!" One of his warriors approached but Thranduil raised a hand halting all movement.

"Wait." He commanded.

The dragon twitched one last time before its yellow eyes closed. There was a second arrow peaking through its skull, one that Bard had lodged in there before getting smacked by the tip of Lamia's long tail and sent flying into the trees.

"The dragon is dead." He shouted once he was certain. "Find the Dragonslayer! Get him to help!"  
…

Waking up in a beautiful elven castle may be the stuff of fairytales, but with the pain shooting across his upper body, Bard knew that he had awoken into anything but a dream.

Groaning, the former bargeman sat up, and was quickly fussed over by elven medics, who protested and insisted that he remained immobile.

"Where are my children? Sigrid, Tilda, Bain!"

He tried to get up from the bed. Someone had stripped him of his armour, and left him in the simple linen clothes underneath. Surprisingly, he had not taken much damage - the dragon's tale had smacked him like a whip, but apart from some serious bruising across one arm and his chest, as well as the many scrapes he had sustained while falling into dense foliage, he was fine.

"They are waiting outside." A healer said.

"Let them in, please!" Bard rasped, his voice coming out harsher due to the pain in his ribs.

"Da!" Tilda ran in as soon as the elves opened the door.

The rest of them were also quick to jumped all over his bed, Bain's embrace a little too enthusiastic for Bard's tender state, but he bore it without complain. He was just happy that his kids were safe.

What really shouldn't have surprised him so much was the fervour he was shown by pretty much everyone on his way to his chambers when he was finally allowed to leave the healer's halls later that day. Every single elf stopped him to thank him. Profusely.

They were all referencing him slaying the dragon and saving them and some of them had already composed songs for him, which they insisted on singing. While Bard politely turned them down, citing that he needed to get some rest in his rooms and needed to get his kids to bed, no such luck came later when he was summoned to a feast in his honour.

The Elven King had thrown a grand party to celebrate Bard's success against Lamiah and there were toasts, speeches, poetry, and of course, every elf who had come up with a new song about the Dragonslayer got their chance to perform it in front of the gathered audience, much to Bard's increasing embarrassment.

The elves were clearly enjoying themselves, not tiring from singing praises or recounting the events of the day over and over again from different perspectives. When they got sufficiently drunk they pushed all the tables to the sides and began dancing, or rather, throwing their limbs left and right, as seen from the perspective of a human, who had grown on reels, jigs and strathspeys.

Bard was tired and to keep up with the festivities, which lasted well after midnight without showing any signs of stopping, he drank goblet after goblet of wine. At some point he was so drunk that he almost didn't mind the songs sung about him and could at least feel amused and laugh good naturedly at the strangeness of his situation.

He did not notice when the Elven King took his leave of the feast and neither did he really care. They had sat a good distance away from each other, since, while Bard was given a seat of high honour amongst the warriors, Thranduil and several other nobles sat on an elevated table above from the rest. Through the party he had felt the King's eyes on him several times, and had answered that gaze, only to have Thranduil look away with disinterest.

But that was about as much interaction as they had during the feast. Therefore when Bard finally managed to extricate himself from his, now very drunk, elven admirers, and started stumbling through the long passages leading to his quarters, the last thing he expected was another summon by the King.

"Can't it wait until tomorrow?" Bard groaned, supporting himself on a wall as his world was not yet done spinning.

Thranduil's guards looked at each other nervously.

"The King summoned you now." One of them said soberly. "It means that he wants to see you now…"

"I get it. I know. Absolute power and everything. Fine." Bard waved his hands to shush the elf. "Well, tell him that I'm waaaay too drunk to be of anymore use to him tonight. It's for his best interest that he waits until I sleep it off."

"Lord Dragonslayer, with all your respect…" The other guard was looking at him pleadingly. "That's not how it works. Please, come with us, otherwise we would have to use force."

"You are serious, aren't you?" Bard sighed. "Alright, I'll come. But you might have to carry me, because I really can't hold steady right now…"

And so, drunk as you may, Bard was taken to the Elven King's personal chambers, a place that he had never seen before, and if he were even a little bit sober, he might have wondered for what purpose he was there at all. As it was, he was left alone with the Elven King, who sat by a table and sipped on yet another glass of wine.

"How can I help? My King." Bard said, remembering his courtesy just in time. Sort of.

"Your help has already been given and well received." Thranduil said, rising up from his chair. Bard's eyes darted to his tall frame, trying to make sense of what the Elven King was wearing. At first it looked like a dress, a very loose one and not very fitting of the King's usually flashy style. It was kind of plain and subdued, long, loose thing that did nothing to accentuate the elegant lines of Thranduil's body… And there were those bad thoughts again. Bard quickly pushed them away and tried to get his mind back on track.

Straining his wobbling gaze to see the garments better, Bard recognised that it was a nightgown. By all means the Elven King looked as if he had risen from bed. Even in his intoxicated state Bard found that particular.

"I wanted to congratulate you personally on your success today, Bard the Dragonslayer. You have my gratitude and my respect." Thranduil continued.

"Well, I'm glad I managed to do the job you hired me for." Bard might have been blinking too much. He tried to look away, not trusting his eyes as the Elven King approached him.

(But Valar, didn't Thranduil's beauty shine even brighter in such simple clothing!)

"I trust that you had a good time at your feast?" The Elven King inquired, stopping just a few paces away from the former bargeman, who was finding it increasingly difficult to keep his thoughts and his body straight.

What was happening? Why was he alone with Thranduil in his bed chambers? Why wasn't Thranduil wearing anything more… fitting of a king.

"The feast was…" Bard dared to look up and seeing Thranduil's luminous eyes on him, his platinum blonde hair falling down those broad shoulders, he completely lost his thought. "... It was great. Thank you. I'm very flattered."

"You shouldn't be. You fully deserve the fame and privilege. You have given my Kingdom peace of mind. Tonight most will sleep soundly, knowing that they are safe."

"Most?" Bard raised an eyebrow, perplexed.

"Not everyone." Thranduil said and walking away until he stopped by the corner of his bed. He turned his head slightly and looked at Bard over his shoulder. "That's why you're are here. I have one last task for you tonight."

Bard bit his lip. He looked from the Elven King to the bed to the empty chamber around them. There could only be one kind of task on such a night, and it seemed like he was about to be ordered into it by the beautiful, untouchable, ice-cold King of the Elves.

Bard couldn't lie to himself - he really didn't mind.

"Do you want me to help you relax?" He uttered, heart picking up in anticipation.

"Yes." Thranduil nodded, but there was no emotion in his expression, no inclination in his voice. And his next words came as an order. "There are nightclothes on that dresser for you. Change into them."

Bard didn't know what to make of the request. Surely he should have been undressing at that point, but he was unaware of elvish customs, so he did as he was told. Maybe Thranduil found his current clothes offending in some way. Therefore Bard had to change into… a plain pair of elven nightshirt and pants?

Bard glanced behind him to check if he was being observed, but Thranduil had turned away and walked a little distance further, giving the human some privacy. Getting more and more suspicious of the nature of the Elven King's desires, Bard made quick work with the clothes. He was a grown man and not someone easily intimidated. Whatever game Thranduil wanted to play, Bard was more than capable of handling it.

And so, soon enough Bard was standing in the middle of Thranduil's bedchamber, barefoot and clad only in the elven nightwear, swaying just a little bit.

"All done." He announced and Thranduil turned around.

"Get in the bed." Came the next order and Bard immediately obeyed, slowly crawling on top of the sheets.

The bed was opulently large, enough to fit several families by Laketown's standards. Bard sprawled out on his back across it, feet dangling off the edge before propping up on his elbows to observe the slowly approaching Elven King.

"Is that how humans sleep?" Thranduil asked at last.

"Ugh, no?" Bard tilted his head to the side and tried to focus on the elf's expression. It was an incredible feat that he still didn't see double, however that didn't mean that his vision wasn't a little too soft around the edges.

"Can you lie with your head on the pillows and your body under the covers?" Thranduil asked impatiently.

Bard did as he was told and waited for Thranduil to join him, which he did, lifting the covers and sliding between them gracefully.

"Are you hurt." Thranduil asked as the man felt the elf moving closer and closer to him.

"Nothing that would kill me." Bard said, keeping his eyes on the luxurious canopy above, bidding his time while he tried to figure out exactly what Thranduil was up to.

The elf had moved within arms reach and the former bargeman felt careful fingertips on his elbow. Gingerly Thranduil's hand traced up over the muscles of his arm, dragging the light elven shirt over it. Bard let out an involuntary hiss.

Thranduil did not apologise, however he skirted even closer until he was propped up on one elbow on his side, looking down on the human next to him.

"You fought valiantly today." He said instead.

"Thank you." Bard tried to meet his gaze but from this close it was unbearable to look into the Elven King's intense eyes.

The heat pooling beneath the heavy velvet covers and the numerous pillows was already getting uncomfortable for him and he squirmed a little under the sheets, an action that only earned him a strong hand on his chest, which pinned him in place.

"I'd like to reward you." The Elven King continued and Bard felt that same hand slide over his body until it sneaked around his other side and Thranduil lowered himself to the bed, lying down with his arm accords Bard, holding him still.

"You may have anything you want. Just name it." Thranduil continued and Bard's body gave an involuntary shiver.

From this close Bard could feel Thranduil's heart beating inside his chest. It's rhythm was hard and the elf's breaths were coming a little faster than they should.

"You have already given me all that I require." Bard whispered, shifting in the elf's embrace, which had somehow grown tighter. Soon enough he realised that he wasn't being held - he was being clutched. Thranduil was grabbing for him as if he was holding on for dear life, with both arms now around Bard's body and squeezing the man tightly to his quickly expanding and falling chest.

"I insist." Thranduil said breathlessly and there was a slight tremor in his voice, one that Bard could no longer mistake for lust. "Tomorrow you can ask Eagwen for anything you need. I will give orders and she will be able to provide it to you…"

"Are you ok?" Bard swallowed hard, not caring about interrupting the Elven King. Something was definitely wrong and he knew it.

"Yes, I am." Thranduil's voice was quiet, but sharp, more like a hiss than a whisper. It held no room for disagreement. "Now sleep."

…

And that's how it started. Being ordered to relax while an Elven King, who clearly was not ok, clutched to him like a life-line. Thranduil's breaths and the quivers of his body looked suspiciously like fear to the former bargeman, but who was he to say and what was there for an Elven King to fear?! It made no sense.

They were safe, a dragon had just been slain and no one had gotten seriously hurt. Thranduil's bedchamber was arguably one of the safest places in all of Middle Earth. And yet, for some reason, this fearsome elf seemed absolutely terrified at night.

On one of the first nights, when the thing had still been new, and Bard hadn't thought that it would go on for much longer, the human had made the mistake to ask the question:

"Is it because of the dragon?" He had asked.

"Don't. Speak. Of dragons. To me." Had come the furious answer and he had been tossed onto his front in the bed, almost suffocating with his face pressed into the pillows, while Thranduil's arms locked around him like a cage, holding him punishingly tight, making no move to let go even as Bard struggled.

And through it all another "attack", as Bard had begun to call those episodes in his mind, happened. Thranduil's breath and his heart rate had risen out of control, but he hadn't said a word. He had simply dug his fingers into Bard's flesh harder, trembled against him, but not uttered a single explanation of what was going on.

And later, in another week or so, having grown tired of the nightly summons, which could come at any ridiculous hour of the night, because apparently the King of the Elves did not sleep as a normal being, Bard decides to try another tactic for fixing the problem:

"You know you got me for a reason, right?" He had said to Thranduil as the elf snuggled by his side for the night. "I will kill any and all dragons that come to your kingdom. You have nothing to worry about."

This time the word dragon had not set off another freak out session. Instead Thranduil's eyes had grown wide and his eyebrows had risen in surprise.

"I don't doubt it." He had breathed and shifted even closer to Bard, pressing himself against every inch of flesh he could reach.

His embraces had turned less aggressive and more intimate since that night, but the nightly routine hadn't otherwise changed.

It continued night after night and no one, not the guards, not the servants, not Eagwen, not any of the other elves in the Woodland realm, who surely knew of this arrangement, since word traveled like a wildfire through those halls, batted an eyelash at the fact that Bard was sleeping with their King. As in, next to him.

"What is this called?" Bard asked Eagwen one day. "A bed warmer? Is that even a real thing?"

"A bed warmer is something else, I believe." The elleth told him.

"Then what am I?!" Bard threw his hands in the air in frustration.

"You are the Dragonslayer. Guarding our King in any way he sees fit is your duty."

"Am I guarding him? It seems to me I'm his cuddle toy." Bard shook his head in disbelief.

"It a dragon approaches the Woodland realm at night, the first to know will be our King, since he feels the life of each tree and every animal accords these lands. There is no better way to alert you on time if your duties are needed."

"Is that what you all tell yourselves?!" Bard scrunched his face in disbelief.

"That is how it is." Eagwen didn't bulge.

"Your King is a nervous wreck! He needs help."

"How dare you speak of our King in this way!?"

And so Bard had realised that he would find no sympathy nor understanding amongst the woodland elves. They clearly didn't want to see what he had seen with his own eyes - Thranduil was terrified of dragons but was too proud to admit it or seek a healthy resolution.

And that's how Bard found himself in his current predicament. With his nightshirt discarded because of the unbearable warmth in the royal chambers, he lied next to the Elven King in his bed. Thranduil was so used to him by that point that he was happy laying his gorgeous blonde head on the former bargeman's hairy chest, much to Bard's secret satisfaction. So much for the elves' high-nosed racism and hair-shaming.

Bard wondered if elves could even sweat, and what did he smell like to their King, who never seemed to break a bead of perspiration, despite being pressed to an overheated human. Safety, perhaps. Whatever Thranduil thought of his smell, it seemed to amount to security, because being by Bard's side was the only thing capable of calming down the elf's nerves and letting him rest through the nights.

But then there were other night as well, when Bard just couldn't tell if he was being teased or if Thranduil truly didn't know what he was doing to him. It seemed kind of impossible that the Elven King was unaware of the desire he was kindling between his human bedmate's legs. With all the clutching, caressing, rubbing and occasional tiny kisses planted over Bard's bare shoulders, neck and jaw, it was getting harder and harder for the former bargeman to get any rest in the King's bed. No pun intended.

It made Bard's blood boil, his breath hitch and his desire flag despite his best attempts to subdue it. On a few occasions Thranduil's leg or hand would brush it and it would take Bard all of his self control not to roll them over, pin the elf to the bed underneath him and show him why he should never play with fire. Somehow he managed to stay immobile or move as the Elven King wanted him to move, usually just to guide him to his side, so that Thranduil could embrace him from behind and not have to deal with his erection.

But it was funny, Bard thought as he allowed Thranduil to once again roll him over, tuck an arm under his neck and use the other one to pull him flush against his clothed chest, while his fingers caressed Bard's naked skin and played with the short curls of hair they found over his breast. Weren't elves supposed to dislike contact? All tales said that elves were stingy with their affections, yet Thranduil's behaviour was nothing like that. Sure, during the day Bard rarely saw him, but the Elven King's nights were all, without exception, Bard's.

There was something fishy about the entire ordeal, and it seemed to extend well beyond a phobia of dragons. And as much as Bard wished that he hadn't been involved, he knew that if he ever wanted to sleep in his own bed, close to his children and regain any sense of normalcy again, he would have to get to the bottom of the Elven King's issues. And so, despite knowing that he was delving with both hands into a hornet's' nest, he decided to make it his mission to find out.


End file.
